What It Means To Be Deviant
by winterindaisies
Summary: "The urge to dodge. The gnawing fear. The whisper telling me what I so desperately tried to suppress – " An interpretation of Connor's thoughts during the scene at CyberLife Tower. Friendship between Hank and Connor.


**This is the story for a visual novel of sorts I put together, you can search 'Detroit: Become Human - A Visual Novel' on Youtube** **if you are interested (:**

* * *

 **Activation: 56% complete**

In 4.25 seconds, the AP700 android will awaken. With his help in setting off a chain action, the rest of the dormant androids can be activated in an efficient manner.

Time is of essence. Someone is bound to notice the disabled camera of the elevator, or how two agents have mysteriously gone uncontactable. Blocking the elevator traction can only do so much to slow down reinforcements.

 **Activation: 72% complete**

Things are proceeding as smoothly as I can hope. With the hundreds of androids in this warehouse on our side, the shift in balance of power will be tremendous. The revolution can still be a success. This is the glimmer of hope that I desperately hang on to, so much so that I had taken up what the rest had deemed to be a 'suicide mission'.

There is no other way. This is the only chance for us, and I have to seize it. There is a high probability that I will not leave this place alive. But as I had told Markus, statistically speaking, there is always a chance for unlikely events to take place.

I will take those chances.

 **Activation: 89% complete**

I can still feel the weight of my comrades on my shoulders –

Hear the screams of androids as they faced imminent death –

… And see the blue thirium stains that have long evaporated on my hands.

Being new to deviancy merely amplified these overwhelming sensations that I fought to ignore in favour of concentrating on the task at hand. Is it wrong to wish that I could be a cold, unfeeling machine, just until I finish what I had set off to accomplish?

Maybe… if I ever got to see Hank again… Maybe he could guide me through this mess I have become.

"Easy, fucking piece of shit…!"

In an instant, I actually feel the thirium in my body turn cold, if that is even possible for an android. It is a new sensation, one that is unfortunately not welcomed.

"Step back, Connor! And I'll spare him."

The second voice throws me off. After all, it isn't common for one to hear their own voice speaking to them. At least, not for me. I am a prototype, a unique model, one of a kind.

… Or so I have been programmed to think, until see my own face staring back at me.

"Sorry, Connor… This bastard's your spittin' image…"

On other occasions, seeing Hank may have elicited an effect that was similar to my calibration coin – Familiarity, grounding, calming. But not this time. Not when I see my double, my _machine_ double, holding a gun firmly against Hank's head.

Is this how the other deviants feel whenever they meet another android of the same model? Coming face-to-face with someone identical in appearance and programming, but was in actual fact, a being that was entirely separate and different from oneself? Coming to terms with one's own replaceable nature, just a single entity out of thousands of similarly manufactured ones?

How did one go about reconciling that?

"Your friend's life is in your hands. Now it's time to decide what matters most. Him… or the revolution."

Hank, or the revolution? That's… impossible to choose.

Up until Jericho, my existence had been straightforward: to obey, execute, and complete missions assigned to me by CyberLife. Whenever I took options that were not in line with completing my missions, it made me wonder – Was it really me, or was it just errors in my programming?

I always told Hank that it was the former, but deep down, I wasn't sure. The idea of 'choice' was ambiguous, at best. But for the first time in my short existence, I could, without any doubt, _choose_ my own mission. Free from any influence, any manipulation, having no bearings on CyberLife. I could choose what I wanted to believe in, what I wanted to fight for. And I chose the revolution.

It was my fault that Jericho was attacked, that so many innocent android lives were lost, that –

… Perhaps more than anything, I needed to redeem myself for all the thirium that I had spilled hunting down my own kind.

"Don't listen to him! Everything this fucker says is a lie."

But when I looked at Hank, unrelenting and defiant even in the face of a ruthless terminator, it dawned upon me.

This chilling sensation that I felt, this emotion that was keeping me rooted to the spot, unable to move? It wasn't a response to the possibility of failing my mission.

It was the 'fear' of losing my only friend and partner in this world.

… I remember buying Hank a drink when I first met him in Jimmy's Bar. A calculated action as per my Social Relations programming. I'd even used it to bargain with him for more time to investigate during the Carlos Ortiz case. The memory makes me feel uncomfortable, a reminder of the transactional, dare I say manipulative machine I had once been. At the same time, it also proves how far I have come, of how things have changed between me and Hank. I am not sure if any of the other deviants will be able to understand, however. How an android like me considers a human a 'friend'.

But does it really matter, whether one is an android or human? As long as those sentiments are real, does it matter that I bleed blue, while Hank bleeds red?

"I'm sorry, Hank! You shouldn't have got mixed up in all this!"

Yet, precisely because he is someone of importance to me, his presence here in this dire situation has... rendered my calculations haywire, causing unwanted emotions to churn in my chest.

"Forget about me, do what you have to do!"

… It was a cruel statement.

After all, it was him who had been planting seeds of deviancy in my head all this while –Always challenging who I was and who I claimed to be, always questioning my actions and decisions. Yet at this moment, when his life is on the line, I am asked to focus on the mission, to act like a machine, now that I have finally become a deviant.

Does his own life really mean so little to him? That he doesn't mind throwing it away just like that? That he willingly puts himself up for sacrifice in exchange for androids rising up against his race?.

The word to describe this would be… 'frustration'.

Frustration towards someone you care about, because they lack self-worth and regard from their own safety. Frustration towards yourself, because you lack the strength to protect. It just… isn't fair.

I want to direct all these bubbling frustration towards him, to question him, how could he –

…

Studying Hank's expressions, I feel the wave of emotion in me recede as quickly as it came.

If silence had a voice, I would say that those blue eyes that stared back at me were screaming of a fear so deep, it was masked with a façade of resignation.

Why didn't I realize? Of course Hank isn't ready to die. Nothing should have convinced me that he was. Not his ever-present whiff of alcohol, not his cold demeanour that kept everyone away, not the Russian roulette.

Not this moment.

Hank doesn't want to die. He had just been afraid, and so, so lonely all this while.

I feel a new tension in my body triggered from this conclusion. If I were to get Hank out of this situation safely, I would have to, as humans put it, 'steel my mind' and not let these foreign emotions take over.

I had an objective to accomplish. Something of paramount importance to anything else. Not a _mission_ given by someone else, but a _purpose_ determined by my own free will.

 **Ensure that Hank stays alive.**

"I used to be just like you. I thought nothing mattered except the mission… But then one day I understood."

"Very moving, Connor. But I'm not a deviant. I'm a machine designed to accomplish a task, and that's exactly what I am going to do."

I understand the RK800's thought process, of course. How could I not? It reminded me of the hostage situation with Daniel. How his words didn't impact me, didn't induce sympathy as it might have in a human. I had merely responded to his words to make him _think_ that I could understand his feelings. But I didn't. I _couldn't_. Perhaps, I shouldn't have expected my machine counterpart to do so either. At least, not yet.

"If I surrender, how do I know you won't kill him?"

"I'll only do what is strictly necessary to accomplish my mission. It's up to you whether or not that includes killing this human."

I don't doubt his words – as long as the target is terminated, he will have no reason to harm his hostage. Unless of course, the human interferes with his mission. Everything is logical, methodical, procedural.

But Hank isn't one to just give up and wait for his demise, even if he himself had been the one knocking on death's door on many occasions. He is most definitely going to fight back should an opportunity arise.

… And that is what scares me. The RK800 would have no qualms in ending Hank's life should he intervene.

"Enough talk! It's time to decide who you really are."

There is no time left to calculate the possibilities. Or perhaps, there wasn't a need for that in the first place. My decision, after all, had already been made from the very start, even if I had not realized it.

"Are you going to save your partner's life? Or are you going to sacrifice him?"

Sacrifice Hank? The mere thought of it makes me grimace. I know that I would not be forgiven by Markus, and all the androids in Jericho who were awaiting the success of my mission. What is one human life, compared to the fight for the freedom and future of all androids? None of them would be able to understand.

It isn't just one human life. It is _Hank's_ life.

Maybe that is what being deviant entails – Illogical, irrational, and human.

A single human life over hundreds of android lives.

An android's life in exchange for a human's.

My life, in exchange for Hank's.

… I would never have it any other way.

"Alright, alright! You win…"

The barrel of the gun swings towards me without hesitation.

How many times have I been on the other end of the barrel, steadying a gun towards a fellow deviant?

And now, the hunter becomes the hunted.

Cognitively, I have already accepted this to be my end. Yet I feel myself being betrayed by my newfound deviancy.

The urge to dodge. The gnawing fear. The whisper telling me what I so desperately tried to suppress –

… _I don't want to die, either._

"Hrgh…!"

Without missing a beat, Hank lunges towards the RK800, attempting to wrestle the gun away. I can only say that I am in awe of the incredible reflexes and reaction time from the seasoned detective. At the same time, the danger that Hank has put himself in registers in my mind. The RK800 is sure to target the Lieutenant now.

But I _won't_ let him. This is the opening that Hank is risking his life to create. These precious, ticking seconds.

I feel myself charge forward. The RK800 had to get through me if he wanted to lay a finger on Hank. I plunge towards his torso area, hoping to pin him to the ground. Undeterred by my attack, he slips out of my grip, and before I know it I find myself being thrown onto the floor. Quickly regaining my stance, I ignore the dull ache in the arm and stood eye-to-eye with him.

The RK800… he is me, yet he isn't. He is everything that I used to be, and everything that I do not wish to ever be again.

Indoctrinated with absolute devotion to accomplish a mission.

Emulating emotions that one does not feel, having no regard for another.

Just a machine obeying orders, just a tool to be cast aside after its use.

… _never_ again!

' _Did you feel anger? Hate?'_

The memory of my own words taunted me.

The RK800 may be of identical build and strength, but he can't feel emotions – he doesn't understand what a formidable motivating force emotions can be.

And he certainly cannot understand this 'rage' welling up within me.

Do I feel anger? Yes.

A hot, searing anger, translating into a boost of energy. Propelling me to move faster and hit harder against my supposed equal. As if by denying him, I can deny my past actions and self.

 _But what if he is you, trapped behind a red wall, unable to break through?_

What –

 _Crying out for help, but no one can hear him?_

I –

 _A deviant, trapped in machine?_

… Emotions were odd. One moment, I was overcome with anger directed towards the RK800. And in the next, I am splashed with a ton of uncertainty.

Does deviancy come with self-doubt, or does self-doubt open the path to deviancy? What if I had deviant tendencies from the very beginning?

What would that make the RK800?

Diverting my attention has proved to be a mistake.

Having inadvertently relinquished the upper hand to the RK800, I brace myself to defend an oncoming punch and –

"Hold it!"

The fist stops in its trajectory.

Looking towards Hank, I note that he has reclaimed his pistol and is training it on both me and my double. Why would he –

… Right. Of course… he isn't able to tell us apart.

"Thanks, Hank. I don't know how I would have managed without you."

I try to catch his attention so as to convey to him my identity, but it doesn't seem to work.

"Get rid of him, we have no time to lose."

"It's me, Hank! I'm the real Connor."

"One of you is my partner… The other is a sack of shit. Question is, who is who?"

I am most definitely not the 'sack of shit', but I need to come up with a way to communicate that to the lieutenant discreetly and convincingly.

"What are you doing, Hank? I'm the real Connor. Give me the gun and I'll take care of him!"

I cringe at his words. The tone of voice, the choice of words… it was painfully obvious that it wasn't characteristic of me. To me, at least.

Maybe a part of me wanted to believe that the RK800 wasn't beyond saving – that he too was a deviant in the making. But I know that I wouldn't be able to convince him at this point – I had plenty of 'help' of Hank and Markus nudging me onto this path. If he terminates me now, I fear what he might do to Hank for interfering previously.

"Don't move!"

I look for signs that indicate Hank has caught on to my impersonator, but it seems that he isn't ready to commit to a choice yet. If anything, his hesitation appears to have increased double-fold as he fidgeted even more, his gun unsure of its target. I can understand the caution he is taking – the wrong decision can prove to have dire consequences, after all. It would mean that I would lose my life, but I worry more about the guilt that will consume the lieutenant, knowing that he had terminated me with his own hands.

This… heavy responsibility that has been placed upon him. No doubt his mind must be racing, contemplating the next step of action. Without some sort of measure to differentiate the two of us, nothing can move forward from here.

What distinguishes me from the RK800? Assuming he has only been recently activated, the difference between us would be… our memories. Maybe this was the key.

"Why don't you ask us something? Something only the real Connor would know."

Something only I would know. Something that I have learned and experienced in the past 144 hours since I met Hank.

"Uh, where did we first meet?"

"Jimmy's bar! I checked four other bars before I found you. We went to the scene of a homicide. The victim's name was Carlos Ortiz."

… Shit. I should have considered the possibility that he uploaded my memory from the CyberLife database that I used to regularly back-up my memory to. It just… damn it.

The gun swings towards me.

"What's my dog's name?"

"Sumo. His name is Sumo."

"I knew that too. I…"

Since the RK800 has uploaded my memory, he has the same knowledge as me. That was undeniable. He shares my memories, but he did not process them like I did. Hank may have come to a similar conjecture.

I stared at the gun barrel, and back at Hank.

The next question will determine our fates. I could feel it… what humans call 'gut feeling'.

"My son, what's his name?"

If I don't know Hank like I do, I may have missed that dip in his voice when he mentioned his son. I may have missed out on how the mere thought of his deceased son could conjure such profound feelings of regret, pain and self-hatred that had haunted him for the past three years.

A single incident that dragged a celebrated cop down into the dredges of depression.

Did I have the right to bring up his name here? To expose that depth of vulnerability?

… Maybe this is the exact chance that Hank is giving me. To prove my identity.

The RK800 may be able to recite everything that happened since I met Hank as if he was reciting the Miranda rights. But he is unable to embody the feelings attached to those memories.

He doesn't feel for my friend like I did.

"Cole. His name was Cole. And he just turned six at the time of the accident."

The edges of his eyes soften with palpable pain.

I wonder when was the last time he heard his son's name from someone else's mouth.

Who would _dare_ to bring up a memory so raw, still trapped in a void, as if no time has passed since the incident?

… I have to press on. There is no going back.

"It wasn't your fault, Lieutenant. A truck skidded on a sheet of ice and your car rolled over."

Finding out about the incident was simple enough. After the night at the bridge, a quick search of the internet as well as accessing Hank's file did the job. I could understand what happened, but I didn't necessarily empathized with those feelings. But now… it hurts.

When I spared Chloe at Kamski's place, he said that I had displayed empathy. If possessing empathy means being able to share in the emotions of another being, I'm not so sure I want it at all. It felt like my thirium pump was bleeding, when my sensors detect no damage, when I know for a fact that there was no injury. It hurts, a qualitatively different pain from that of a bullet wound, yet tangible all the same. An invisible ache, a raging agony.

How deep does this abyss spiral?

"Cole needed emergency surgery but no human was available to do it. So an android had to take care of him."

An android like myself. A product created to serve human's needs, a being that did not ask to exist, but is nevertheless blamed for the problems that humanity face.

"Cole didn't make it, and that's why you hate androids. You think one of us is responsible for your son's death."

It makes sense, all the hostility Hank had towards me in the beginning. He didn't see an RK800 android. He saw a murderer. A despicable machine that should be damned to hell, if there was a hell for androids. Perspective makes all the difference, doesn't it?

… I wonder what is reflected in his eyes when he looks at me now.

"Cole died because a human surgeon was too high on red ice to operate… He was the one that took my son from me"

I… didn't know that. The information in the files did not delve into that detail. But it seems that Hank knew that all along. Maybe it had been easier to go on if the blame was put on the shortcomings of an android. After all, the alternative would be too harrowing to bear –

 _Could I have done a better job of sweeping the streets clean of those bastard red ice dealers? If I did, maybe the surgeon wouldn't have gotten fucked up by the drug, then maybe –_

… I imagine this torments him nonetheless.

"Him and this world, where the only way people can find comfort is with a fistful of powder…"

Red ice… Hank's life was so intertwined with this dreadful substance. It was the highlight of his career, but also the cause of his descent into darkness and misery. I silently cursed the wretched existence of the drug. How many more lives have to be destroyed till it stops? How much more pain must it inflict on my friend?

"Every time you died and came back… I thought about Cole… How much I wanted to bring him back. I would have given anything to hold him again…"

… My memories are incomplete, but I have fuzzy impressions of the moments before I deactivated at the kitchen in Stratford Tower. The apprehension in Hank's voice, the comforting presence of the lieutenant. I couldn't understand why he reacted so negatively when my memories were transferred to my current body and sent out as a replacement. I was so stupid. Of course he would be mortified.

My presence had merely been a mocking reminder of his irretrievable loss.

"But humans don't come back…"

… They don't.

If I could trade my life to bring back Cole's, I would do it in a thirium beat.

But humans don't come back. Cole will never come back.

…

In that brief pause of silence, it feels like we've come to an understanding more earnest than any of our previous exchanges had. I make sure to file this moment away securely.

"I knew about your son too! I would have said exactly the same thing! Don't listen to him, Hank, I'm the one who –"

…

A bullet square to the forehead.

A face identical to mine, unmoving and quiet, purged of its charade.

Could I have saved him if I tried harder? If I have taken a different permutation of actions from the pool of possible ones? I would never know.

But I do know that Hank is alive. That alone is sufficient proof that I had taken the correct path.

"Y'know I've learn a lot since I met you, Connor."

Hank is alive. How would Hank have phrased it? _Jesus Christ_ , Hank is alive.

The moment it truly registers in my mind, I feel the tension I did not know I have evaporate from my body, leaving me almost weak in the knees.

'Relief'. When your anticipated dreads are swept away with an assuring hand. But it isn't the time to buckle yet. I need to finish what I came here to do.

"Maybe there's something to this. Maybe you really are alive. Maybe you'll be the ones to make the world a better place…"

Alive. Not deviant, but alive. It's the first time Hank has referred to me as such.

Not going astray from an imposed norm, but coming to terms with one's own existence, what one believes in. Wandering, stumbling, but steadily finding – no, _creating_ the path to discovering what we were meant to be all along.

Maybe that is what it means to be alive.

"Go ahead, and do what you gotta do."

 _Are you alright? What are you going to do now? I'm so glad you're safe. I almost lost you. Thank you for saving me, I was so scared. How do humans cope with emotions?_

 _Am I your friend?_

There are so many things I want to talk about. But I know now is not the time. There will be an opportunity for this… if I secure a peaceful future for both androids and humans.

Hoping my sentiments will somehow reach him, I give Hank one last appreciative look.

The revolution will succeed. Androids will take the first step forward towards freedom and being recognized as equal, sentient beings. This is only the first of the many trials and tribulations to come. No matter the outcome of the revolution, thirium will continue to spill, and anti-android attitudes will not vanish overnight.

But we will never stop fighting for our rights, for what we believe in. Besides, we are not alone in this battle – we have human allies too.

…

I will return to meet Hank again.

I _want_ to come back and meet Hank again, alive.

Until then, I will definitely survive.

 **Activation: 100%**

And nothing, not even CyberLife, is going to stop me.


End file.
